How Fragile the Forging
by AlianaKensington
Summary: Sequel to 'Forging the Heart's Desire'. The Dragonborn is thrust back into the Thieves' Guild once again. Alyssa promises Balimund that it is her last job, but Brynjolf has other plans…
1. Chapter 1

How Fragile the Forging

Summary: Takes place after 'Forging the Heart's Desire'. The Dragonborn is thrust back into the Thieves' Guild once again. Alyssa promises Balimund that it is her last job, but Brynjolf has other plans…

The sun was rising on the hazy little town of Riften. Normally Balimund would wake before the dawn, but married life had made him sluggish with contentment. Instead of the early rays rousing him from his dreams, it was someone bustling around in the solar. The smith smiled before he opened his eyes to peek through the entryway at his wife.

His wife. It had been three weeks since Balimund had laid claim to Alyssa at the Temple of Mara and he still couldn't believe that she was his. The gods had been very good to him. Her auburn hair was undone and cascading down her back in tight waves. The fire in the hearth gave her creamy skin a healthy glow. She was so beautiful in the morning.

He sat up in bed and watched her glide across the room, fussing over pots and setting the table hurriedly. The smith was left curious; enough to move him from the warm bed and walk across the freezing floor of Honeyside to lean against the door frame.

"Good morning, Love."

Alyssa whipped around, eyes wide. She hadn't expected Balimund to wake for another half hour. Still, it was always good to see him first thing in the morning; his pale golden hair was very wild and his eyes would still be sleepy, making the broad-shouldered Nord look so innocent. She smiled, petal-pink lips turning up. "Good morning. Hungry?"

The smith nodded, grinning back. He loved that smile.

She motioned for him to sit down. Balimund settled in and finally realized there were delicious smells permeating the room. He inhaled appreciatively, causing Alyssa to giggle. He loved that, too.

Alyssa placed a heaping plate of venison chops and buttery potatoes in front of the hungry smith, who eyed it gratefully. It wasn't enough that this woman was given the power to save the world- the gods thought it best that she could cook, too. Not that Balimund would _ever _complain.

The Dragonborn put a steaming sweet roll on the edge of his plate. The smith chuckled happily. He quickly swiped a bit of the fast-melting icing with his finger and held it up to his wife. Any time she made sweet rolls, he would always offer her the first taste in this way, which would always lead to them abandoning their breakfast and sating another kind of appetite.

Alyssa looked at his sugary finger wearily. "Mm… not just now, Bal." The smith watched surprised as the Breton woman turned to tend to the food on the hearth. She began packing things away. Balimund looked over at her spot at the table; she hadn't placed anything there.

"Aren't you going to eat, Love?"

"I will later." She turned to give him a reassuring smile. Balimund's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Lately she'd been eating enough to rival even him. Now she wasn't eating at all?

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Never better." Her smile grew wider. She turned back and began humming.

Hmm. Very strange. Shaking his head, the smith plowed through his breakfast, uttering appreciative murmurs and groans every so often. Before long, Alyssa's humming turned to singing.

"Steady as she goes, to and fro, to and fro. Steady as she goes, to and fro…

My lass waits for me on the shore, on the shore. My lass waits for me on the shore…

She's fair-haired and blue-eyed, my love, yes my love. She's fair-haired and blue-eyed my love…"

Balimund loved her voice. She might have been a bard if the songs hadn't turned out to be mostly about her. The smith recognized the popular sea chanty as the Dragonborn repeated the chorus:

"Steady as she goes, to and fro, to and fro. Steady as she goes, to and fro…

I've brought her a brooch, made from gold, made from gold. I've brought her a brooch made from gold…

I'll ask for her hand, to be mine, to be mine. I'll ask for her hand to be mine…

Steady as she goes, to and fro, to and fro. Steady as she goes, to and fro…

She'll cook and she'll sing every night, every night. She'll cook and she'll sing every night…

Her belly will swell with my bairn, with my bairn. Her belly will swell with my bairn…"

Alyssa had turned to face Balimund as she sang this last verse, her dusky eyes bright with mischief. He sat back and listened, enjoying the morning serenade.

"Her belly will swell with my bairn, with my bairn. Her belly will swell with my bairn_…_"

Odd. The song usually ended with the chorus, but she came back around on that last line. Balimund gave the Breton a curious look. She laughed a little, walking up to the smith and taking his hand in hers. She placed his open palm against her stomach, and softly repeated:

"Her belly will swell with my bairn, with my bairn. _Her belly will swell with my bairn!_"

Wha-… by the gods!

Balimund looked up incredulous. His eyes bounced between Alyssa's and her stomach. He placed his other hand on her and gently cradled her still-small belly. A bairn. _His_ bairn. _Their bairn!_

The Dragonborn continued to grin down at the Nord, joy pouring out of her like the tide. The smith stood and pulled her to him, cupping the Breton's face tenderly. "Lyss… is it true?"

She nodded. "Yes. I am queasy, I can smell everything, and I had Wylandriah confirm it." It had been strange to have the court wizard examine her, but there were no midwives that Alyssa knew of in Riften, let alone Skyrim. Still, the mage hadn't thought it too strange a request and used a Detect Life spell to see if there was a separate aura within the Dragonborn. Sure enough, the court wizard exclaimed excitedly that there was a very small wisp of life inside the Breton's womb.

Balimund kissed Alyssa intensely before scooping her into his arms and swinging her around the room, roaring triumphantly. The Dragonborn laughed before stopping abruptly. "Bal-Bal! I'm queasy!"

The smith stopped, concern etched dramatically on his features. He rushed her to their bed and laid her down gently. "Gods, Alyssa. I'm sorry! I'm a fool, I was just so excited. Can I get you anything?"

She laughed, cupping his face. "I'm fine! Balimund, I wonder what Asbjorn would think if he knew just how soft you really are?"

The smith snorted. "I am not. And besides, what good would it do him to know? I'd be forced to work him into the ground just to prove him wrong." Balimund immediately switched back to focusing on Alyssa, holding her gently.

"A child. _Our_ child. I never thought I'd see the day." The Nord man looked uneasy as he looked back down at her belly. Gods, was he too old for this? Most men his age had children that were grown. Forty-two wasn't considered old by any means, but in regards to having a bairn?

"You're no stranger to raising a child. Asbjorn has you to thank for his good fortune." Alyssa stated, seeing his apprehension and knowing his fear.

The smith sighed. "Aye, but he was twelve when I took him in. And that is a far cry from a little one…" The smith was fascinated with her stomach, trying to imagine how small their child must be. He would grow quickly over the next several months. And then-

Balimund looked anxiously up at Alyssa. "We'll have to send for a midwife. She'll be able to help you through…" He couldn't finish, the thought of his wife in pain was more than he could bear.

The Breton smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine, Bal. Women before me have done it, and many more will do so after." She brushed her lips against his tenderly, her heart swelling with delight over her husband's concern.

The smith returned her kiss heartily. The gods had blessed him yet again. Not only was she a wonderful wife, but she was certain to be an exceptional mother. They pulled apart to a knock at the door. Balimund got up and barely had time to answer before Svana Far-Shield nearly took it down in her rush to get to Alyssa.

"Is it true!?"

Alyssa's mouth fell open in shock. "You know?!"

"Everyone knows." Asbjorn said, trailing in behind his wife and clapping Balimund on the back. "Congratulations, _father_! I never would've guessed I'd get a little brother so soon!"

"Or sister!" Svana shot back, irritated. They had been arguing mildly about the gender ever since they found out.

Alyssa shook her head, looking far away. "Unbelievable. That Elf forgets her own name most days, yet manages to remember that I'm expecting and tells the whole town…"

Svana exclaimed animatedly. "This is wonderful! Have you thought of any names? Where will the babe's room be?"

Asbjorn shook his head and leaned closer to Balimund to conceal his words from his wife. "She's been like this for days. I can only imagine what she'll be like when it is our turn."

The smith smiled wryly. "You have my condolences."

"Anyway, we should go and celebrate! Let's go to the Bee and Barb. After all, it wouldn't be right if you stiffed everyone on that round you're buying, _Da_."

"Not so fast. We have work to do today." Balimund knew a Skeever when he saw one. Asbjorn was more concerned about a day off than the patrons at the Barb.

"Ah, lighten up, Balimund. This is a joyous day! It's not often your wife graces you with the news of your first born." Asbjorn wagged his eyebrows at the smith. Balimund turned to admire his wife, who was enduring the young Nord woman's incessant chatter.

They smiled at each other from across the room. They were going to have a babe.

Balimund sighed, but his lips were turned up in a grin. "Very well. To the Barb with you lot."

Svana rushed to her husband happily. Alyssa moved as if to get up when Balimund swept her into his arms and carried her towards the door. She looked at him exasperated.

"I am capable of walking, you know."

"That may be, but no wife of mine is going to so much as lift a finger while she's carrying our child. From now on, I am your legs."

Alyssa laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're a fool."

"Aye. That I am." He was her fool, and would be the rest of their lives. She rested her head on his shoulder as they headed out the door.

* * *

Thank you for correspondences. I look forward to them in the future.

I do not own Elder Scrolls or any works from Bethesda and Zenimax.

However, the song 'Steady As She Goes' is mine. I am curious to know if it suited this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 2

The celebration over the Dragonborn and Balimund's expected child went on into the night. Before long, word traveled fast and the couple received congratulations and gifts from Jarls and citizens alike. It seemed everyone wanted to express their joy over the babe.

Almost everyone.

Alyssa was coming home late one evening from Svana's house. The Scorched Hammer had been a gift to the newly wedded Fire-Tamer and Far-Shield. After all, Balimund's home was with Alyssa at Honeyside. The smith was finishing up an order and would be late getting back. He had ushered her home despite her protests to stay and help. The sun was lingering on the horizon, giving the Breton enough light to see her way to the house.

Alyssa had little time to react when she was pushed up against a wall in a narrow alcove between two buildings. The rough lumber bit into her back as she struggled to free herself, but her assailant had her pinned with his body. A hand covered her mouth, preventing her from shouting. The Dragonborn focused on her captor's face; dusky eyes went wide in confusion and fear as she stared up into Brynjolf's bleary-eyed face.

" H'llo, Lass," The red-headed Nord slurred his greeting, breath strong from ale. Alyssa continued to twist in his grasp, narrowing her eyes at the drunken man. What in Oblivion had gotten into him? ...Of course she knew. He had found out. It was clear in the contempt on his face as he used his free hand to hold her wrists.

"I b'leve congrats are in order. Sorry if a bit la'e." His blood-shot eyes leered at the Breton woman. He had lost it when he had overheard a few of the thieves in the cistern whispering about the 'coming joy'. He had immediately ran for his room, tearing the place apart before moving on to the Ragged Flagon to drown himself in drink.

"How could you? Ih' was bad enough you went an married that filthy smith, but this?" Using his body to keep her hands immobile, his hand traveled down to rest on her stomach. " No… it's no' right. It was s'posed to be me. It should be _my_ bairn inside you, not his!" The thief's grasp on Alyssa's face tightened, eliciting a small whimper from her.

"You promised… that you woul' bring glory to the guild. That you'd do one last hit… the one that'd set up the guild f'rever!" Brynjolf's blurry eyes grew worse, obscured by tears. "You were mine once… I know tha' now… we could still be…" attempting to be tender, the red head brushed his lips against the side of the Breton's face, trailing kisses to her covered mouth.

Alyssa struggled more, trying to scream at the thief. He removed his hand over her lips only to replace it with his crushing mouth. Why couldn't she love him? Couldn't she see that she was killing him? By Nocturnal, he would give her anything to make her his. He'd even kill for her! His hands ran over her body, desperate to feel her; to make her feel for _him_.

Brynjolf was yanked backwards and thrown hard against the opposite wall. A large fist connected with his jaw, followed by a second one to his nose. Blood spurted down the thief's face as he slumped against the wall. Hands roughly held him up, grasping his forearms savagely. Head swimming, the red-headed Nord barely recognized Alyssa's cry.

"Balimund, stop! He's drunk!" Alyssa tried to pull her raging husband away from the barely conscious Brynjolf.

"This _bastard_ tried to force himself on you! I'll not stop until he's _dead_!" The smith bellowed into the thief's face. Brynjolf attempted to swing at Balimund but was too intoxicated to see straight, not to mention the stars dancing in front of his eyes. The blond Nord yanked him forward only to thrust him back, his head smacking against the wall. He repeated the motion harder, again and again until Alyssa screamed at Balimund.

"Bal! You'll kill him! You have to stop! Stop!"

Finally hearing his wife's pleas through the haze of his rage, the smith let go of Brynjolf, who slumped to the ground, groaning in pain. Balimund was panting, sweat trickling down his face. His gaze was fierce and full of promise as he addressed the thief.

"You ever come near my wife again, I _will _kill you."

The smith turned and pulled his wife to him, leading her to Honeyside. Brynjolf shakily got up on his knees, wiping the blood from his face and holding the back of his head. He watched the retreating couple with a promise of his own. 'You'll pay for this, old man.'

* * *

Once inside, Balimund paced agitatedly across the room, running his hands over his face. Alyssa stood by the shut door, unsure how to soothe her husband. She could use a calm spell or shout, but she had promised to never use magic on Balimund, healing spells withstanding. Her voice small, Alyssa tried to talk to her angry husband.

"Bal…"

The Nord whipped around to face her. "That son of a bitch could have… he was going to-! Why would you still protect him after what he did? He deserves no kindness from you, woman. That menace should be put down like the rabid dog he is!"

The Dragonborn sighed, looking stern. It was true that what Brynjolf had done was wrong, but she couldn't just stand by and watch Balimund kill him. Some sort of darkness had attached itself to the thief, but it couldn't be him. Her friend was in there somewhere.

"Bal, I understand you're upset-" Here he interrupted her with an incredulous guffaw.

"Lyss, he tried to hurt you! Do you even know you're bleeding?!" He stepped up to her and touched her bottom lip, holding his finger up for her to see the red droplet. She licked her lip and tasted the familiar tinny flavor. She could feel the small wound, but no pain.

She looked at him pointedly. "He didn't mean to hurt me. He's… he's just… hurt." Alyssa pitied the thief. His attachment to her had become unreasonable. It was why she was leaving the Thieves' Guild. Delvin would take over as soon as she finished the last job he had for her. The guild needed a foothold in Whiterun, and then it would be strong enough without her.

"Bal… I need to finish what I started."

The smith looked furious at her words. "NO."

The Breton stood her ground. " I have to finish the job. Then there'll be no reason for him to keep coming around. And he _will_ if I don't do it. It'll be an excuse he'll use to justify himself."

"I'll not have you risk your life and our child's for that worthless guild!" Balimund yelled. Gods, was she insane? Why should they give a damn about those thieves? They could all rot in Oblivion for all he cared.

"That guild is made up of people I hold dear to me! They took me in when no one else would! I'll not see them fall to ruin just because I refused to help. It is one job, Balimund, and I am doing it."

Balimund grabbed a clay pot and threw it against the wall. The Dragonborn jumped in surprise as the jug crashed loudly, falling to the ground in pieces. Balimund turned back to her ready to shout her into submission when he saw the slight fear in her dusky eyes. He calmed down, not wanting to lower himself to the same standing as that bastard thief.

His voice was strained and low. "Alyssa… don't. It's on them now. They'll be fine without your help."

Alyssa rose up a bit, her voice authorative. "I have given my answer."

The couple stared at each other for what seemed like ages before the smith looked down. He shook his head, not meeting her eyes. "Fine. I'll be at the Hammer when you return." With that, he turned to the bedroom, grabbed a few essentials and walked out the door without so much as a goodbye.

Alyssa stood in the same spot, heart beating fast in her chest. This was the first fight they had ever had since they had married. Gods, it hurt so much to be at odds with him, but she wasn't about to back down. The Dragonborn wouldn't abandon her family like that. She would help them get established and that would be the end of it. Balimund would just have to deal with it.

Sighing, Alyssa turned to their bedroom and began packing. She might as well head out now. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight, anyway.

* * *

Brynjolf stumbled into the cistern. Vex and Sapphire spotted him first and alerted the others lounging around the circular room. Thrynn and Viper pulled him over to a nearby bench to assess his wounds while Rune, Cynric and Garthar watched. "By the gods, Brynjolf. What happened to you?" Vex asked incredulous.

The thief only sat staring straight ahead. A few of the members exchanged worried glances. When Brynjolf finally spoke, his voice was steady and toneless.

"I have a plan to put us back on top. We're going to raid the town."

"What town?" Sapphire asked. Her eyes lit up a moment later. "Riften?"

"Aye. I am going to cry wolf to the city guard about invading Stormcloaks. They'll put everyone in a panic. It'll be easy. No one will suspect a thing." The red-headed Nord's eyes looked distant, his voice deadpan.

"We can't do that! Alyssa said-"

"Damn Alyssa!" Brynjolf's fierce voice echoed off the walls. "We do this my way!" He looked at each thief. Vex looked calm and cool as always, but Sapphire was anxious. Thrynn grinned, clearly liking the idea. Cynric was passive while Garthar simply looked confused. Viper assessed the others before looking back at him.

"Who's in?" The master thief asked, but he already had his answer.

Vex moved forward. "I'm in."

"Whatever you say… Boss." Thyrnn's grin was unsettling.

Cynric considered for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not?"

Viper nodded. Everyone looked at Garthar and Sapphire. The tall Nord man looked at Vex. "Where she goes, I go."

"We can't do this. Alyssa said no hits on Riften! Where is your sense of loyalty!?" Sapphire asked exasperated.

"And where is our fearless leader, Sapph? Huh? Where is _her _loyalty?!" Brynjolf bellowed, causing the Nord woman to flinch. This was not a Brynjolf she recognized, and it wasn't just the two black eyes and wounds on his face. She shook her head. "You've changed, Bryn."

"Either you're with us or you're not. Make a choice." The master thief stared her down. After a moment, she walked away. She would have no part in this. Even if Alyssa was leaving the guild, she still considered her a friend. And if the Breton said it was a bad idea, then she trusted her.

Brynjolf turned to the others. "Alright. Here's the plan…"


	3. Chapter 3

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 3

Alyssa had taken the long way to get to the Flagon in the hopes that she would avoid Brynjolf. By some miracle he wasn't there. Delvin Mallory told her to go to Whiterun and speak to Olfrid Battle-Born. The name made her shudder; that old man was odious, and gave the Empire a bad name with his bigotry and self-centeredness. Still, it was the last job she would ever have to do.

On her way out of the city, she stopped in front of the entrance to the Scorched Hammer. Déjà vu came over her as she raised her fist to knock, but stopped short. Balimund probably didn't want to see her right now. She hated the thought of leaving while they were at odds. Was she doing the right thing?

Alyssa turned to leave. No. It wasn't the right thing to do, but she still had to do it. She just wished the horrible feeling in her stomach would go away.

* * *

Balimund had returned to Honeyside the next morning, feeling like an ass. He shouldn't have left like that. Alyssa's life before him may be vague, but those people meant something to her, and he should have respected that. He was just so mad over what that rotten Brynjolf had tried to do to her. Not to mention he feared for her and the babe.

But, she was the Dragonborn! That little woman had taken on much scarier things than what she was after now. Alyssa could handle herself. He just wished he could shake the bad feeling in his gut.

Of course, she had already left. The Nord sighed, looking at the cold hearth. Well, when she returned, he would make it up to her. He returned to the forge, Asbjorn silently asking of his success. The smith shook his head and started in on an ebony battle axe. They worked together silently, enjoying the peace of the day. When the sun was close to setting, Balimund decided to switch over to a new necklace he would craft for his wife as a peace offering.

In the shadows across from the market place, several figures stood waiting. Some dressed in makeshift blue armor were ushered forward, heading in the direction of Mistveil Keep. One man stared across to the forge, eyes never leaving the large blond Nord.

* * *

The Dragonborn crept silently through Jarl Balgruuf's bed chamber, the very man snoring softly. She would've chuckled if she didn't risk discovery. The guards around here boasted of their prowess, yet here she was, slinking away through the Jarl of Whiterun's sleeping quarters in the middle of the night.

She had to find a letter from Solitude stating her target was implemented in a murder there. He was currently sleeping off his fifteen bottles of mead in the dungeon for drunken behavior. She really loved her family in Riften, otherwise she wouldn't even be here. Olfrid was a real piece of work to think she would just casually get a man out of a murder conviction.

The job had gone rather well. Delvin would be pleased and ready to reign after this. She slipped out of Whiterun after peeking in on a sleeping Lydia. She left a quick note and a present for her favorite housecarl. Lydia would love the new ebony short sword that Balimund had made. Alyssa smiled, thinking of her husband. It was time to head home. She'd be there by dawn if she hurried.

Whiterun Hold was cold but peaceful at night. The stars were blinking brightly as the auroras flowed slowly across the sky. The Dragonborn's horse clipped along as its master surveyed the land, watching for trolls and giants. Alyssa's mind wandered, distracting herself from the tedious journey back, as well as a strange sinking feeling she had.

* * *

At the Scorched Hammer, three people stood shaking around the fire, trying to bring feeling back to their limbs. If only it was from being cold.

"… should we send a courier?"

"Gods, no! That is no way for her to find out…"

"We'll just have to tell her when she comes back… by Talos, Asbjorn… how do we…?"

"I… I don't know…"

* * *

As the sun peaked over the horizon, Alyssa slipped into the city. It was odd seeing people out this early. She looked around to see guards in all directions, pacing the streets. She caught small pieces of conversation as she passed, like 'terrible raid' and, 'hoax'. Hmm. Knowing Balimund wouldn't be home, she headed for the Hammer. Aside from the brightly burning forge, it was empty. She knocked on the door but received no answer.

This went beyond odd. Something wasn't right. Alyssa's eyes swept towards the market place. Various items were knocked to the ground as if a large brawl had taken place. She headed for Honeyside.

Alyssa was surprised to find her house full of people. Well, as full as three people made the small solar. Asbjorn was standing near the door. Svana was sitting in a chair that faced her. Alyssa looked to see who was leaning against the door frame of the bedroom. A very solemn-looking Sapphire stared back at her.

"Morning… what brings you here?" The Dragonborn's eyes danced between the trio. They looked horrible. "What happened here? The town's a mess."

Svana looked ready to burst into tears. Asbjorn stood closer to Alyssa, looking conflicted.

"Alyssa… last night…"

"Where's Balimund?" The Breton woman searched behind Sapphire, wondering if her husband was in their bedroom doing… something. Or maybe downstairs?

"… There was a raid last night."

Alyssa turned to look at the Fire-Tamer. He looked back at her with great effort. Trying to keep his voice steady, he went on. "There was a shout about Stormcloaks coming into the city. The guards said they'd spotted them near the Keep. Everyone panicked." Here the apprentice looked to the Nord thief, who stood up straighter. He continued on.

"It was a distraction to ransack the city. Thieves poured out from the shadows… one came to the forge…"

"Where is Balimund?" Alyssa's voice rose a little, searching her friends' faces. Sapphire looked away, unable to look the Breton in the face. Svana had buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Asbjorn took her hands in his. "Alyssa…"

"Where is my husband?" Her voice was so small, but her eyes were wide and shining. No.

"… he… he didn't make it."

She pulled away as if his touch burned her. Her head shaking slowly, she backed into the closed door. No. "No…"

"Alyssa… gods, I am so sorry." The Fire-Tamer's eyes were watering. He had lost his forge brother, the man who raised him from boyhood. His loss was great, but she…

The Dragonborn slid down the door slowly, sitting limply on the floor. No. It was a dream. A horrible dream. She would wake up in her husband's arms. He would be there. She closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up. Gods, _wake up!_

They all stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before Alyssa opened her eyes, tears flowing down her face in droves. Asbjorn knelt beside her, wanting desperately to comfort her but not knowing how.

Sapphire, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "Alyssa. They got him. He was arrested shortly after…" She trailed off, unable to finish.

Alyssa weakly turned to face the Nord woman. Her voice broke as she asked, "Who?"

When the woman looked away ashamed, Alyssa had her answer.

The Dragonborn's body surged with a boiling rage and terrible grief all at once. She stood up, surprising the Fire-Tamer and Sapphire as she stared far away.

"… where is…?"

Asbjorn's shoulders slumped. "He's in the Hall of the Dead."

_Dead_. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She turned and walked out the door, the trio rising to follow her.

The world could have crashed around her and Alyssa wouldn't have known. Her mind had shut down, unable to take it in. Before long she was at the entrance to the Hall. Her hand shook as she turned the handle. Alessandra must have been expecting her, because she was there to greet her, eyes solemn. "Come in, Dear."

The Imperial priestess took the numb Breton by the arm and led her to Balimund.

Alyssa's heart nearly stopped out of misery when she saw her husband lying still on the table. She pulled away from Alessandra and stood before his body. She could see no wound. His face showed no signs of pain. He looked like he was asleep. But his chest did not rise. 'Oh, gods… Bal…'

Alyssa cupped her husband's cold cheek. So cold. Talos, Mara… Akatosh… please, no….

"W-..Where…?"

Alessandra approached at her side. "… He was stabbed in the back. It was quick, I assure you. Whoever did it was an expert with daggers."

Alyssa began to shake violently. Her face twisted in agony as her lips trembled. It was a moment before she let out her anguish in a soul-piercing wail that shook the very ground.

People outside in the market stopped their cleaning and stared in the direction of the horrible sound and rumbling. Gods, what was that?

The Jarl had felt the ground shake. She looked to her steward who could only stare back, a little frightened.

And in the Riften jail, a man looked out of his cell as he felt the floor rattle and heard his doom.


	4. Chapter 4

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 4

Balimund's funeral was held the next day. Typically, honored Nords were burned on a pyre. However, the young couple thought it best to bury him near Honeyside outside of Riften. Alyssa was a Breton, and the natives of High Rock did not hold the same traditions as their eastern neighbors. It might have been too much for the girl to bear.

Svana hadn't left Alyssa's side. She couldn't console her with words, so tried with her presence instead. She had helped the Dragonborn find a suitable mourner's dress. Maramal was preceding over the ceremony. How cruel that the very man who had married the couple not even a month before would now have to officiate the smith's funeral.

The crowd was large. Many had come to pay their respects to the Dragonborn while others had known the smith and already missed his incessant hammering at his forge. The priest solemnly commended the Forge Master for his short but meaningful life. Many wept, but Alyssa was expressionless as she stared at the mound of dirt that covered her husband.

When the service was over, the crowd thinned, leaving Alyssa, the Fire-Tamer, his wife, and the priest. Maramal was speaking to her, but she didn't hear his words. Nor did she want them. She didn't want anything from anyone; she just wanted Balimund back. The moment her mind focused on his absence, it shut down.

Suddenly, the Breton was shoved from behind. She stumbled but remained upright, turning numbly to face an enraged Haelga.

"It's all your fault!" The Nord woman screeched through her tears. Balimund had been the only man that had ever treated her like a person and not just some whore to defile. It had almost killed her when he had married the Thieves' Guild toady. Now he was dead.

"Aunt Haelga!" Svana was mortified. This was the last thing Alyssa needed. The priest tried to reason with the proprietor of the Bunk House, but she ignored him, glaring at the Dragonborn. Alyssa only stared back, eyes listless.

"You killed him! You and that wretched guild of yours! You did this!" Far-Shield grabbed her aunt's hands and pulled her away, leading her back to the city. Asbjorn came up behind Alyssa, rubbing her back. "Don't listen to her. You couldn't have known. That bastard was bad, but none of us would have ever suspected he could do a thing like this."

Alyssa remained silent. She didn't need Haelga to tell her; she already blamed herself. If she had only let Balimund kill Brynjolf in the alley that night, her husband would be alive and the thief would be the one in the ground. Her eyes dilated. 'He will be.'

A motion in the distance caught her attention. She had seen a shadow in the tree line. One that wouldn't have been seen if it didn't want to be.

"Asbjorn, go to Svana. I'll be home later." The monotone Breton walked towards the trees. The Fire-Tamer sighed, but obeyed. He was gone when Alyssa reached the woods. The trees swayed softly in the breeze. It had been a lovely day for the ceremony.

A cloaked figure dropped down from the tree closest to Alyssa. The Dragonborn had no reason to fear the Nightingale. It was her sister of sorts.

"Karliah."

"Alyssa…" The Dunmer nodded to the Breton. "I am sorry for your loss. Please believe me when I say I know what you are going through." Mercer Fray had cruelly taken her lover Gallus. It would seem that the history of the Nightingales was repeating itself; only where her love was taken over greed, Alyssa's was taken out of obsession.

"Then you know what I will do." Karliah was a fool if she thought a little thing like their pact with Nocturnal would stop her from avenging Balimund's death. Alyssa turned to walk away, but the Dunmer grabbed her arm. "Careful, Sister. The path you take will not lead to satisfaction. Trust me."

Alyssa's gaze was unnerving, but Karliah stood her ground. As much as she had believed Mercer's death would have healed her broken heart, it hadn't. If anything, it left her hollower. She didn't want Alyssa to be filled with the same emptiness.

More curious than angry, the Dragonborn asked simply, "Are you going to stop me?"

* * *

Brynjolf paced his cell. He was coming to grips with the fact that not only had he killed a man, but had been caught. He was so out of himself after he had sunk his blade into the back of that smith that he just stood there. The apprentice had run off to seek his wife in the chaos that the thief had no trouble sneaking up behind Balimund to do the deed. He had gasped, then crumpled to the ground. Just like that and it was over. The plan had gone off perfectly- until it didn't.

Vex and Garthar had posed as Stormcloaks to draw the attention of the guards, who shouted warnings to the citizens to flee. The chaos was a perfect distraction to raid the marketplace stalls and any unoccupied houses. That was never Brynjolf's true intent; it was all in pursuit of that smith. With the blond Nord out of the way, surely Alyssa would turn to him for comfort, thinking the Stormcloaks had killed her husband. He would console her, be there for her. She would see that he loved her, and return his feelings in time.

But the rouge hadn't lasted long; guards had spotted Cynric and Thrynn and chased after them, calling to their comrades. Both were slain in the streets. Brynjolf didn't know the fate of Vex and Garthar, and Vipir had dashed out of the city at the first sign of trouble.

He had been in such shock that the guards had caught him by surprise. They beat him and carted him away to the jail house. His body was littered with their handiwork.

He'd won against the smith, but was it worth it? Not only had he lost comrades, but now Alyssa knew he had killed her husband. He'd heard her wail, felt it.

He had to escape.

Unfortunately, the guards had put him in the wrong cell. The escape hatch was in the cell directly across from him. He had a lock pick, but how long did he have before he was discovered? It was almost impossible to break out of the Riften jail without using that hatch. Still, he had to try.

Brynjolf made for the cell door when a guard came into view. The Legion guard opened the door, allowing a shadowy figure to step inside. The thief instantly recognized the Nightingale armor. Thank the gods! Karliah had come through for him.

The cloaked woman faced the red-headed Nord as she dropped a large bag into the guard's hand. It clinked, the tell-tale sound of gold. Brynjolf relaxed and approached, ready to get out of there. He wouldn't go to the guild; he would leave town and never look back, for his own sake.

But the guard didn't make way for him. Instead, he exited the cell and locked the two thieves in. The Nord Legionnaire turned back to address the other jailer. "Horek. Break time."

Brynjolf watched the two enforcers exit the jail, leaving them alone. He looked back at Karliah, confused. She reached up and pulled the hood from her face. The Nord thief paled instantly.

"Alyssa…"

The Dragonborn's face held no expression, but the fire in her eyes spoke volumes. He wasn't getting out of there alive.

"Lass… don't do this. You have to understand. I… I couldn't take it. You were mine, then he came along and… please…" He shook, pacing agitatedly but never looking away from her face for fear she would attack him if he even blinked.

Still she stared at him, making no sound or movement. Just watching him pace. Like a saber cat waiting to pounce.

"I am not your enemy, Alyssa… I love you! You know I do. That's why I… by the shadows, woman! Do you hear me!?" Brynjolf was frantic, his hands grasping his shirt, his hair, anything. Why was she just staring at him? He would have welcomed any sign of life from her; screaming, weeping, _anything_. What was she waiting for? If she was going to do it, then she should just do it! Why drag it out!?

"If you had just listened to me, stayed with me, this never would have happened! No one would have had to die!" Spittle fell from his mouth, his bloodshot eyes wild with fear and anger. Alyssa felt nothing as she looked at the thief. In this moment, he truly looked like a rabid dog.

"Gods damn it, woman! Say something!" Brynjolf howled.

She finally did. Three words. But not the ones he had longed to hear.

"FUS… ROH DAH!"

* * *

Outside, the guards gripped the railing as the foundation shook. Horek looked queasy. He was sure he had heard bones crunching against stone. He turned to his comrade. "I am not looking forward to cleaning that mess."

Nolin shook the heavy coin sack at him. "Why do you think it's so heavy? Good riddance, I say."


	5. Chapter 5

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 5

Svana stood staring at the Dragonborn from the door frame. It had been four days since the funeral and Alyssa had been in bed, sleeping day and night. When she was awake, she merely stared off into the air. The tavern girl had tried many times to get her friend to eat or drink something, but was given the same response each time, "I'm not hungry."

Svana was terrified. Alyssa was pale and malnourished. If she went much longer, the babe in her womb might not make it. And any longer…

Asbjorn entered Honeyside and deposited the firewood by the hearth. He and Svana had decided they would stay with the Dragonborn at her house until she seemed ready to be alone. Their bedrolls downstairs weren't luxurious, but personal comfort was far from their minds. The Fire-Tamer put an arm around his wife as tears ran down her face. "Bjorn, she's dying."

He looked past her shoulder to view the sleeping Breton. He was afraid of this. The love between Alyssa and Balimund had been brief, but strong. Those two had instantly attached themselves to each other in a way that went beyond time. He sighed.

"She is like the songbird." The tavern girl turned to look at her husband confused. "What?"

"When a songbird loses its mate, it stops singing, eating… living. It joins its mate shortly after in death."

Horrified, Svana stared at her friend, fresh tears streaking her face. By the gods, how could this happen? She rushed to Alyssa's side and shook her awake before Asbjorn could stop her.

"Alyssa, please. Please, you have to eat something. Come on, Alyssa!" Her jostling made the bleary-eyed Breton look at her. It broke the Far-Shield's heart to see that vacant look on her sunken face. The Dragonborn curled further into her blankets, looking away.

"Svana… I'm tired. Please, just let me sleep…" She shut her eyes and sighed quietly.

Svana held back her sob. Asbjorn pulled her away from the bed. "Come on, Love. We'll try again in a while." They exited the house, unable to watch the Breton waste away for another moment.

* * *

Alyssa was in a warm, bright place. She couldn't see anything distinguishable, but was unafraid. This place was comfortable, peaceful. She liked it here.

A silhouette came into view. It was broad and tall. She couldn't distinguish anything about the figure for the brightness overpowered her sight. It approached the Dragonborn slowly. Reaching towards her, the figure brushed her cheek. It was warm and pleasant, like sunshine. She unconsciously leaned into the familiar caress, sighing in delight. In a voice with a deep timbre that sounded far away, the figure softly spoke.

"Wake up, Little Dragon… You have to get up."

"… Bal…?"

Another hand brushed against her belly, cradling it in a loving way. The voice seemed to echo gently from every direction.

"Wake up..."

* * *

Alyssa found herself in her room again. The dream had been so vivid. Instead of weeping for its loss, Alyssa sat up, looking inward. A few minutes passed. She could hear the young couple speaking softly and setting the table. There was something sweet-smelling cooking on the hearth. Her belly rumbled violently. She placed her hand in the same spot the figure had, looking down at her stomach.

Throwing the blankets back, the Dragonborn placed her feet on the cold wooden floor. Standing was difficult, she was shaking badly. She managed to shuffle to the door frame and lean against it for support. Svana was stirring a pot of gruel while Asbjorn placed two bowls at the table.

"What time is it?" Alyssa's small voice startled the two Nords. They exchanged glances before Asbjorn answered. "About mid-evening."

She nodded, then eyed the steaming pot. "That looks good."

Asbjorn quickly laid another place setting and ushered the Breton to the table. She slumped into her chair weakly. Svana placed a bowl of gruel in front of Alyssa. It was a simple dish, as the Far-Shield maiden wasn't as skilled a cook. Still, it made Alyssa's mouth water. She took her spoon and dipped it into the gooey heap. But her arm shook a little, losing most of the spoon's contents.

Alyssa sighed. She'd gone too long without water, her limbs could barely function. The spoon was gently taken from her as Svana sat in front of her. She dipped the spoon again and held it up to the Breton's lips. Staring at her friend, Alyssa leaned forward and opened her mouth, taking the offering. She swallowed, sighing a little from the overwhelming satisfaction.

Asbjorn filled a clay cup with water from a pitcher and placed it in front of her. Svana smiled reassuringly, and repeated the motion, switching between the gruel and drink. It was a sight to behold; the mighty Dragonborn being spoon fed like a small child. But no one cared in that little room. They were just glad for the moment.

* * *

Weeks had passed. Sapphire came back to check on the Breton and fill her in on what was going on in the guild.

It seemed that Vex and Garthar were found hiding in a nearby cave and were arrested. Whether or not they'd been placed in the right cell, no one knew; time would tell. Vipir had returned to the cistern to tell everyone what had happened in the marketplace. Delvin was furious; Brynjolf's rogue actions had caused internal damage to the guild with its losses and reputation. Now not only were they robbers, but murderers, too.

The guild would have to leave Riften if it wished to survive. Sapphire was devastated to have to abandon her home, but knew it was for the best.

"Where will you go?" Alyssa asked quietly.

"Delvin didn't say… I'm not even sure that _he_ knows where we'll go." The Nord woman looked off to the side before saying, "Just so you know… no one blames you for what you did."

Alyssa watched the brunette thief. She couldn't tell if she was nervous about bringing it up or if she feared retaliation. The Breton placed a hand over Sapphire's.

"And I don't blame the guild for what Brynjolf did." She tried to smile to reassure the woman, but it didn't reach her eyes. Alyssa's body had recovered, but her heart was still lost.

They parted amicably. It was unlikely that they would ever see each other again. Even after all she had gone through, the Dragonborn prayed that the guild would live on. They weren't a bunch of heartless robbers; they breathed and loved just like everyone else.

The Breton stayed in the house most days, until she could bare it no longer. She needed to talk to someone about what to do. The young couple had been wonderful in their consoling, but she needed wisdom.

Of course. She knew where to go. She packed lightly and left a note for Asbjorn and Svana, saying not to worry and that she would be back in a couple of days.

* * *

The frigid gales tried to blow Alyssa towards the mountain's edge. She was tired from the long journey up the 7,000 steps, but she pressed on, determined. The night sky was obscured by dark clouds, adding to the bitter cold. She bypassed High Hrothgar and went through the archway that led to the Throat of the World, and the only friend who could help her.

Coming around the corner of a jagged pass, Alyssa spotted the large pale-gray dragon in his usual spot above the word wall. He looked as if he was asleep, but turned to face the Dragonborn upon her approach. She dropped her pack and stumbled towards her friend, eyes brimming with tears. "_Paarthurnax_…"

"_Dovahkiin…briinah_…" Alyssa tried to smile at the dragon's offering of kinship. She fell to her knees before the large beast, which used his wing to shelter her from the winds. Her voice was choked when she addressed him. "_di…dii liin…"_

"Yes, I know. I heard your anguish carried by the wind, and felt your grief quake the mountain." Paarthurnax spoke in her native tongue, not wanting to tax her any more than she already was from her tiresome journey. "_Krosis_… I am sorry for your loss. I too know what it is like to lose a mate." The ancient dragon's voice rumbled across the cliff side. It had happened so long ago, but a day didn't pass where he didn't think of his beloved _Kunodosley_.

The tears nearly froze to her cheeks, but she couldn't stop them from coming. She was reliving that horrible moment again and again in her mind. "What do I do?"

"_Krosis_… I do not know. A _dovah_ deals with grief by taking and destroying… but this is not your way." He lowered his head and carefully exhaled, attempting to dry the Dovahkiin's tears. She leaned her face against his, shutting her eyes. Even if he had no answer for her, she couldn't think of anyone she wanted to see more than her _zeymah_.

The wise dragon was silent for a moment. Life must go on, but how? The _Dovahkiin_ had lost her purpose along with her mate, as most _dovah_ do. That is why many became wild and savage. The small one needed purpose.

"I… I am having a child." Alyssa whispered. The large dragon still heard her words over the chilling gusts. "_Foruniis, Dovahkiin._ Congratulations. You must be strong for this child."

She nodded. "I know… but I fear I may lose myself before the babe comes. I am afraid, brother."

Paarthurnax considered this, and then spoke slowly. "Then you must have a new purpose. Tell me, _Dovahkiin_. Before _Alduin_, what was your purpose?"

Alyssa sat up, opening her eyes. "… I was looking for my family. That is… where my family came from, and who they were." She had nearly forgotten about her pursuit of her family matron, Aliana; of her whereabouts before she arrived in High Rock. Once she had Balimund, he was all the family Alyssa needed.

"Hmm… perhaps you should take up this search again. It will give you purpose, and keep you focused and strong for your _pahdul_."

"_Pahdul…_?" The gray dragon had been teaching her the language of the _dovah_ before she married. This was a word he had yet to teach her.

"Baby…" Paarthurnax clarified. "A _pahdul_ is a rare and precious thing for the _dovah_. They must be cared for at all costs. You must take care on your journey."

Alyssa nodded. Yes. Yes, she would do it. She had to get out of Riften, and this was the perfect reason. "Thank you, _zeymah_. _Nox hi…_"

* * *

The Dragonborn walked through the door to Honeyside, greeted by Svana and Asbjorn. She returned their smiles, but hated to tell them she was leaving. She loved them dearly, and this journey could take months, even years. Still, it had to be done.

"Asbjorn, Svana… I am… I am going to Cyrodiil. I need time away from here. Also, I am going to search for my family."

The couple exchanged surprised glances. Was this a good idea? It had only been a few weeks since Balimund's death, and she was beginning to show signs of her expected child. But Asbjorn could see the logic in her decision. "Do you want us to come with you?"

"No. You will be needed at the forge. Besides, I need to do this alone." She walked up to a solemn Far-Shield and wrapped her arms around her. "Thank you, Svana. You both have been wonderful. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Svana returned the embrace, eyes watering. "We love you, Alyssa. You're a part of our family… Are… are you coming back?"

The Breton pulled back, smiling at her friend. "Yes, of course. I just don't know when. I'll write you, I promise."

The Nord woman nodded, hugging her best friend again. They helped the Dragonborn pack. She left that day, the young couple waving her off at the city gate until she was no longer in sight.


	6. Chapter 6

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 6

The noise of the tavern did little to distract the young Breton woman sitting in a dimly-lit corner, immersing herself in numerous loose pages and journals. Alyssa scoured each weathered paragraph, hoping to gain even a small clue about her ancestor's presence there nearly two hundred years ago.

Chorrol was the third city she had come to in search of resident records from the third era. She was sure she would have had better luck in Bruma, the Nord city of the province, but had found no sign of her heritage matron. Cheydinhal had been no better.

The Dragonborn had considered her options. She knew that anything south of the capital would be a lost cause, due to the Thalmor's success in taking its cities and destroying anything they deemed irrelevant during the war. What she would find most likely only dated back thirty years, after peace came to the land in the form of the White-Gold Concordat, the wretched document issued by the Thalmor to stop Talos worship in the Imperial provinces, as well as claim a healthy expanse of Hammerfell.

After four months, Alyssa was beginning to lose faith. If Chorrol didn't have what she needed, her last hope would be the Imperial City.

An older Breton woman placed a steaming dish in front of the girl. She smiled kindly, looking down at her round belly. "How long before your blessing?"

"Not long. A couple months, I think." Alyssa said politely. The babe had fared well during her track across Cyrodiil. Her stomach was large for as far along as she was. At night, she would lie awake and run her hands over it, feeling a slight fluttering and the occasional kick. No doubt the child would be hearty and strong, like its father.

Alyssa distracted herself from her brooding thoughts by inhaling the taurine of beef stew appreciatively. "Looks wonderful, Renalda. Thank you."

"Is the bed comfortable enough for you? I can always have Corven fetch more blankets if you would like." Renalda Sorhein had gone beyond her standard innkeeper duties to cater to the young Breton's every need, though she asked so little. As a proud mother of two grown daughters, she understood the importance of staying comfortable while expecting.

"No, thank you. The bed is fine."

The publican of the Twilight's Repose Inn nodded and returned to her other patrons. Alyssa sighed, returning to the tedious ledgers. The sun was sinking fast, and she was getting nowhere. It was well past midnight when she finally made it through the tall stack.

Nothing. No mention of a woman named Aliana having ever lived in this city. Alyssa wasn't surprised; there had been very few Nords in the town at that time. There had only been one amongst the list of names: Lysara, owner of Arborwatch. The name seemed familiar, but where had she seen it before?

Feeling defeated, she left the stack of papers on the table and headed towards her room. She stopped to ask Corven if he would be kind enough to return the documents to the castle for her, since she would be leaving early the next morning. He agreed cordially, and smiled when Alyssa handed him a small pouch of gold for his trouble. She shuffled up the stairs, ready to sleep her disappointment away.

* * *

That night, she dreamed of a large oak tree. Sitting underneath was a dark-haired man reading a book. His head was down, so she couldn't see his face. The wind whipped around them, causing her to look up. The skies darkened, turning an eerie shade of red…

The Dragonborn woke up feeling unnerved. What a strange dream. She stood up and looked out the window. In idle conversation, Renalda had said that there used to be an enormous oak tree in the center of the town. It was long gone according to the older Breton. Came down in a lightning storm, or some such story.

Alyssa broke her fast and headed out, thanking the publicans again for their generous hospitality. They waved her off, wishing her luck in her endeavors. She was going southeast to the Imperial City to see if they kept records of all the citizens of the province. The idea of sifting through mountains of papers was unappealing, but she had come so far to find answers about her lineage that the idea of giving up was nowhere in her mind.

The young Breton rode her horse side-saddle. She had taken to wearing dresses since her belly had grown. Normally she wouldn't dare travel without armor, but leather was unbearable when you were with child. Besides that, it seemed that Cyrodiil was not quite as plagued with deadly things running around as Skyrim was. There were plenty of Legion soldiers out and about, killing bandits and trolls alike.

She didn't get far before coming across two old, decrepit buildings. Nearly all the windows were broken, and what looked like a well had caved in on itself, most likely as a result of time and the elements. The smaller building appeared to be a chapel, sporting a crumbling steeple.

There was no sign to indicate what this place was, but it looked very much like the monasteries back in High Rock. It had been long abandoned from the looks of it. She should just let it be; monks weren't known for their luxuries so treasure was unlikely. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she should investigate. It was like an itch in the back of her mind, urging her forward.

There was a stable in the back of the larger building, albeit worn. She rubbed Ebony's muzzle reassuringly before entering the chapel. It was empty, but for a few broken pews and what must have been a shrine. Upon entering the larger building, she waved her hands frantically, fending off the attacking dust disturbed by the opening of the weathered door. Coughing, she peered around with watering eyes.

Directly in front of her was a staircase that forked on the upper level. To her left was a small sitting area, or would have been; all that remained was an upturned table and a broken chair. Climbing the stairs, Alyssa had the strangest sensation. Almost as if she had done this before. In fact, she knew that she would find a bedroom to the left. A few crooked bed frames and leaves that had entered through the broken windows sprawled across the dirty floor.

She turned and entered the right side. The room was bare. The Breton briefly had a flash of something. For a moment, she had seen several writing desks lining the walls, along with book shelves filled with tomes. And at the end had been a large desk and a bald, proud man in burlap robes behind it.

Alyssa blinked. Gods, what was that?

She looked around, eyes wide. It was all so familiar, but how? She had never set foot in Cyrodiil before now, let alone this empty monastery. Turning, she looked at a door by the shelves that she should have missed. But she didn't have to see it to know that it was there. Standing before it, she pulled a lever hidden within the shelf that she shouldn't have known existed.

The door opened, revealing a sunless room. Casting a Magelight spell, Alyssa slowly turned inside the tiny hidden chamber. It had fared better than the rest of the building. There was a table, writing desk, and a few paintings resting on the floor. A drawer frame sat empty, its cabinets removed and sitting atop.

It was a little disappointing to find such a room but nothing in it of interest. As she turned to leave, she noticed a chest underneath the writing desk, obscured slightly by the stool. Kneeling down, she pushed it aside and yanked the chest out. It was locked, but she hadn't twiddled her thumbs during her time in the Thieves' Guild. After two lock picks, she lifted the lid delicately.

It contained a pair of steel gauntlets with intricate designs, giving it an important, almost official look. There were a few other articles of clothing and books, all dating back hundreds of years ago. Flipping carefully through one of the books, a few folded pieces of paper fell into her lap.

She opened the first and began reading.

_Jauffre-_

_You must understand. I can never come back. That part of me is dead; it died with him. Cyrodiil can look after itself from now on. I mean no ill will. I now know that what happened was fated by the gods. I wish I could hate them for it, and maybe I do. But at the same time I am grateful to have known him, even if just for a moment. Please take the armor back to Chancellor Ocato. I appreciate the sentiment, but I cannot stand to look upon it._

_I appreciate your discretion. I have no wish to be found by any familiar face any time soon, if ever. It is beautiful here, and so peaceful. A peace I intend to keep._

_Give my love to Baurus. Tell him I said to lighten up._

_Be well, Grandmaster._

_Aliana_

Alyssa gasped. A letter from her ancestor? As she reread the letter, she remembered the letters Sondhesa had given to her from that family chest when she was a girl. Opening her pack, she removed the book she had hidden the letters in. Thank the gods this Jauffre had been meticulous enough to date his letters.

Recasting her lighting spell, she laid the letters out on the floor. She leaned back on her knees, blood rushing through her veins. The letter she had found correlated with one of the letters from her family chest. Which meant this was the Weynon Priory!

She read the letter she had spent many nights reading as a girl, trying to decipher its mysteries.

_Aliana,_

_I will always respect your wishes, though I wish you would reconsider. Your talents would help to unite this broken land. I know you believe I disliked you, but that was not the case, despite your dark background. Your actions proved you to be the champion that you are. Forgive an old man for his misgivings. _

_By the way, I am curious about the name. Then again, I imagine you have no wish to explain, and won't push you for an answer. No one else knows of our communication, as you requested._

_How are you liking High Rock? It has been a long time since I have seen those blessed Wayrest streets._

_I will pray for you. Gods know you deserve so much more than I can give._

_Brother Jauffre_

Alyssa was almost shaking with excitement. By chance she had come across this place. Or was it? Either way, it had left her with more questions than answers. Why did her family matron call the monk 'Grandmaster'? Seemed a strange title to give a pious man. And why all the secrecy?

By the sounds of it, Sondhesa had been right in thinking Nitram's father had died in Cyrodiil. Had he been a Legionnaire fighting the Daedra that had come from Oblivion? It would make sense, seeing as her sixth generation great grandfather had become one, as did many of the men in her family line. Even her father had risen in the ranks to the commander of Wayrest for the Empire.

The Dragonborn looked over the letter once more. It mentioned a Chancellor Ocato. The capital was the only place where chancellors resided. She would have to go to the Imperial City after all. Feeling refreshed an elated, Alyssa left with her new-found treasure, urging her horse in the direction of the looming white tower.


	7. Chapter 7

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 7

The Dragonborn had seen many wonders in her short life, but none quite as breathtaking as the White-Gold Tower. She stared up at the pristine spire. She had seen it all the way to the Imperial City, using it as a beacon to her destination. Now that she was there, she couldn't help but admire it. She knew she was gawking, but who wouldn't? The citizens here saw it every day, but had they ever really _looked _at it?

Inside that tower were libraries that once belonged to a priesthood known as the Ancestor Moths, or so she had read. What had become of them was unknown, but the Imperial library had survived the Great War whereas the documents of other county castles hadn't been as fortunate. No doubt the greed of the Dominion had preserved it.

If the gods were smiling on her, she would find some record of this Chancellor Ocato dictating a set of armor to her family matron. The likelihood of her getting in was small; as far as she knew, the library was not open to the public. Still, she had to try. She had traveled all this way! She would ask politely, and if they refused, she would observe the palace for a few days before taking matters into her own hands. They hadn't elected her Master of the Thieves' Guild for nothing.

She was informed by two guards that she was free to explore some of the lower level, but the rest of the palace was off-limits. Alyssa wasn't discouraged; surely if she talked to someone of importance, and explained her situation they would relent. After all, how much of a threat could a young Breton woman heavy with child be?

* * *

Apparently, the Legion didn't take chances with anyone. She found herself accosted by the very same guards when she tried to enter an official-looking room. She argued with them heatedly, demanding an audience with 'anyone with half a brain'. This did not go over well with the Legionnaires, but had managed to draw the attention of an ancient-looking Altmer in fine crimson robes.

He had been sitting alone in the official room when the commotion roused him from his solitude. He walked over to investigate. He saw the backs of two guards, growling orders at some young female. At least, from what he could hear; he couldn't see past the lumbering Imperials.

They shifted enough that he caught a glimpse of a Breton woman. Stepping closer and around, he was finally able to look at her full on. What he saw shocked him.

He raised his hand in the air, gaining the angry trio's attention. He motioned for the guards to step back, who obeyed silently. Alyssa watched the old Altmer come nearly nose-to-nose with her. His look was unnerving. When he lifted her chin to inspect her more, she was tempted to slap his hand away. His voice was rough, but firm.

"Yes... but for the hair and height… the very same." He removed his hand from her face and placed both nonchalantly in front of himself. "What is your name, young lady?"

"Alyssa Wulfe, of High Rock." Though Skyrim had been the main attraction of the dragons, the other provinces had heard and a few had even seen the winged beasts. They also heard how the Dragonborn, a Breton woman from Riften, had saved the Northern Province, not to mention the rest of Nirn from the evil Alduin. Having no desire to draw attention to her in any way, the Dragonborn had stuck to the title she used before arriving in Skyrim.

"High Rock, you say? Hmm…" This Altmer was _really _beginning to unnerve her. The way he looked her up and down would have left her disgusted if she wasn't so sure he was not lusting after her, but merely committing her to memory.

The ancient Elf bowed his head, clucking his tongue. "Where are my manners? I am Chancellor Lathenil. How may I be of service to you, Lady Alyssa?"

Finally, someone who would listen to her! Relaxing a bit, the Dragonborn smiled shyly. "I have traveled far in the hopes of entering your libraries."

"Oh? Well I am afraid that is a request I cannot satisfy. You must understand, the items there are precious; we can't let just anyone in."

Alyssa deflated. So much for that. She curtseyed, not wishing to seem rude- especially since they would be seeing more of her the next few days- until they didn't. "I understand. Thank you for your time, Chancellor."

She turned to leave when the Altmer spoke again. "Now, if you wouldn't mind sating an old man's curiosity… what is it you were hoping to find?"

She faced the chancellor again. "I was looking for a document issued by a Chancellor Ocato."

The Elf started slightly at the name, as if she had confirmed something for him. She continued, hoping she might sway him. "He issued armor to my ancestor. I was hoping it would have an address or even a city to direct me in my search." Whatever she had expected the ancient Altmer to do, it wasn't laugh. The mer seemed positively ecstatic.

Settling down to his respectable demeanor, Chancellor Lathenil directed her to the chamber he had come from. "I was about to have tea. Would you care to join me? I am sure you must be tired from your travels, and no doubt need to rest. A few pastries to refresh you, perhaps?"

Well this was certainly a change from a moment ago. She nodded, entering the large chamber. The walls and floor were made of a sturdy, pristine stone that she couldn't name, with a matching circular table. Velvet-lined seats surrounded it. The Altmer spoke to the guards in hushed tones before joining her. The two Imperials left through a side door, causing the Breton to quirk an eyebrow.

"Off to fetch a few things for me. Now," His bones creaked as he sat down, "the name Ocato. Are you familiar with it? He was not only a chancellor here, but the potentate during the Oblivion Crisis. And for a time after that." The Elf seemed wistful.

"Did… did you know him?" Alyssa hated to ask, since that would date the chancellor in front of her to more than two hundred years old; something that could easily be taken as an insult if she was wrong.

Fortunately, he nodded. "Yes. He was a good friend. Even brought me to the position I hold now." He motioned with his arms at the room.

"Perhaps you would be kind enough to…" The Breton wasn't sure what to ask. Did she really expect him to remember something as simple as a piece of paper issuing armor to a Nord woman? He looked at her expectantly with a twinkle in his eye.

Just then, the tea and pastries arrived. Once the Imperial woman set the tray down, he motioned for Alyssa to help herself to a small cake while he poured her tea. She sipped appreciatively, murmuring pleasure in between bites. He smiled, his wrinkled face cracking more. "Same manners, too."

She quirked her head, not comprehending the strange mer. This was a chancellor? Seemed a bit like a merry man to her.

One of the guards returned with a delicate-looking paper roll. The Altmer thanked him, turning towards the young Breton. He looked ready to hand her the article before pulling it back slightly. "If I may ask… what do you know of your ancestor? What was her name?"

It was Alyssa's turn to start. She had never mentioned it was a woman, so how did he know? She ought to feel suspicious of the Elf, but couldn't sense any malice or conniving on his part. He seemed to think it a fun game. What was the harm? "Aliana. She was a Nord. I believe she lived here in Cyrodiil before coming to High Rock."

"Aliana, eh? Interesting choice." He said cryptically. She was growing a little irritated. Lucky for him, he chose that moment to hand her the document. She consciously unrolled with a gentle touch. It was a simple parchment, and had fared better than it ought to have. The ink was faded, but she could still make out the words.

_To Maro Rufus, proprietor of The Best Defense,_

_The High Chancellor-Potentate Ocato wishes a special armor to be crafted for the Hero of Kvatch, in honor of her hand in the victory over Mehrunes Dagon. You will be assisted in your efforts, for the armor must meet certain specifications. You no doubt understand the privilege that has been bestowed upon you to carry out this order. The Imperial armorers will join you in a week's time with the measurements._

_Chancellor Lathenil_

Alyssa's large dusky eyes were as big as they had ever been. There had to be some sort of error. She had heard the tales of the famous Hero of Kvatch, who stopped the evil Daedric Prince from enslaving Tamriel. But to believe that her lineage hailed from _the _Champion of Cyrodiil? Impossible!

"I am sorry for you to have gone to all this trouble. But there must be a mistake." The Breton handed the paper back to the Altmer. "Did the potentate issue another set of armor, perhaps?"

Chancellor Lathenil laughed again. "Surprised? I knew you would be. She no doubt never told anyone who she really was in High Rock. No, there is no mistake My Dear. If you didn't notice, I am the one who wrote out that issue. Extraordinary woman. I knew her briefly, but she was… unforgettable." He said with mirth.

Alyssa was almost reeling. It was too much to behold! Her ancestor, a hero! But why should she be surprised? After all, was the Breton not the Dragonborn? It seemed heroism ran in the family.

The old Altmer smiled warmly. "I knew who you were the minute I saw you… by the way, you have been misinformed. Her name may have been Aliana in your homeland, but here, she was known as Lysara."

She remembered now! She had seen that name twice before, in the cities she had researched the castle ledgers. The Nord woman owned properties in the counties, but little else was said of her. Certainly no mention of being the Hero of Kvatch.

"But… are you certain? I don't mean to question you, it's just… hard to believe." He nodded in understanding.

"Lysara saved this land with the heir to the throne of Tamriel, Martin Septim. You should be very proud to come from such a strong woman. No doubt it runs in the family…" He gave Alyssa a meaningful look that she wasn't sure she wanted to understand.

The Dragonborn looked thoughtful before addressing the chancellor again. "There was a letter to her, from a monk named Jauffre. Do you have information on him as well?"

The ancient Altmer sighed, a sadness reaching his eyes. "There is no harm in telling you, I suppose. He was the Grandmaster of the Blades, an ancient sect that protected the Emperor. I believe they were dragon slayers before that." His look lingered on her eyes, watching her for a reaction. "If you wish to find out more, I am afraid most of the history of the Blades is lost. They were wiped out before the Great War began."

The second guard came in, hauling an ornate-looking chest. He sat it carefully before the Breton and chancellor. He bowed, and then departed. The Altmer motioned for Alyssa to open the chest. She leaned over the arm chair and lifted the heavy lid. Inside was the most beautiful armor she had ever seen. It appeared to be made of leather, ebony and steel. The cuirass was lined with jewels and gold trim. Despite the many stones, it appeared to be light armor.

"This rightfully belongs to you…" Lathenil looked on as the young Breton ran an appreciative hand over the armament.

"It is incredible…" It would be a little big for her; her matron must have been a true Nord in the sense of height. Still, to have something so precious… an heirloom. It was wonderful!

Nonchallantly, the chancellor looked around the room, feigning an indifferent manner. "Do not worry about taking it with you. I can have it sent to Riften if you like."

Alyssa's head whipped up to stare at the Altmer, who returned it with a steady gaze.

How did…?

"… yes. A very likeness indeed…"

It was time to go. She appreciated the efforts of the Altmer, but this went beyond unnerving. "Thank you, Chancellor Lathenil. I will not soon forget your kindness." Or how much he gave her the creeps.

As she rose, the Old Mer escorted her to the entrance. She curtseyed for good measure, and made a hasty retreat.

"Lady Alyssa!"

She turned to face Lathenil, not wanting to be rude despite her feelings.

"If you have time, might I recommend a visit to the Arboretum? They have many beautiful statues there. There's one specifically that might interest you. There was a similar one in Kvatch before it fell to the Dominion. Its likeness still stands in the gardens."

She nodded, and was about to turn away when he stopped her short again. "And if you have just a bit more time after that, you should see the statue of Akatosh in the Temple district. It is truly remarkable. Built by no man!"

If he tried to stop her once more, she would have forgone politeness and kept clipping away from him. He was almost frightening.

The ancient Altmer shook his head, looking wistful again. "Ah, your Highness… what pretty children you sired."

* * *

The Dragonborn decided to indulge her curiosity. She was directed to the lavish garden. Large, weathered statues intricately lined the pathways. Most of them were of the gods. She made sure to stop before the statue of Mara and offer a prayer for Balimund. Her heart constantly ached for him, but she knew that wherever he was, he was in a peaceful place. One she hoped to join him in one day.

She lifted her eyes to the statue next to the goddess of love. She blinked. It… couldn't be…

Alyssa walked up to the marble figure entranced. A worn brass plate at the base noted:

Lysara, Champion of Cyrodiil.

This was not what took her breath away. It was the fact that she was looking at a statue of herself.


	8. Chapter 8

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 8

It was time to go home. Alyssa didn't have all the answers, but she had learned so much during her stay in Cyrodiil.

Her lineage matron had been the Hero of Kvatch, and the previous savior of Nirn! The Breton woman was still coming to terms with this revelation. Still, it made sense; after all, where else would all her power come from?

Ebony was slowly trudging up the snow-covered mountain behind the Nordic city of Bruma. These Nords had been a little different from Skyrim's natives. They seemed softer, almost complacent. They were generally friendly, though, and had offered her assistance in her endeavors.

The wind was picking up, snow falling heavier with great speed. Alyssa looked behind her in the saddle. Maybe she should have stayed in the wintry city instead of passing it by in order to get home. She was about to turn around when she noticed a tall stone wall with a large, broken gate. There was a good chance she would find shelter for the night if she stopped to have a look.

Nodding to herself, she nickered at the dark horse to move forward, up the stone steps.

There were scorch marks littering the steps and walls, leading up to a shell of a building. Most of it had collapsed in on itself; the slanted roof had fallen completely through. This once-proud looking structure appeared to have been involved in an attack, most likely during the Great War. There was a stable that was mostly in tact to the left of the stairs. Alyssa led Ebony inside to shelter her during their unexpected delay.

It was strange, but for a brief moment the Dragonborn had envisioned three horses in an unscathed stable; one painted, another chestnut, and the last looked much like her Ebony, only… not. Alyssa could've sworn she had seen red, glowing eyes!

Shaking herself, she patted the mare and went to investigate the ruins.

The entire East side was destroyed. The collapsed roof made going through the main entrance impossible. She had almost given up when she came across an entrance on the West side. She entered quietly, not wishing to disturb a sleeping troll.

"_Laas… Yah Nir…"_

… Nothing. Sighing in relief, Alyssa swept the area with her eyes, revealing no life other than Ebony out in the stable. The sun was almost set, but the Breton could still see a bit of light filter in through the many gaps and broken windows. She looked around, trying to imagine what the room must have been. Perhaps a mess hall? This might have been an ancient Akaviri palace, though generally those were all underground in Cyrodiil. She continued on, hoping to find a room without so many openings for the elements to get at her. The winds whistled through the tattered building, forcing Alyssa to tighten the wrap around herself.

There was one room that seemed to have made it through its battle; it was large and empty, yet a sort of… grandness settled over the place. Alyssa decided to lay her bedroll near the center of the northern wall. Once her bedroll was laid, she grabbed the apothecary satchel and removed several Fire Salts carefully. Forming a circle around the bedroll, Alyssa immediately began to feel warm.

"_A fire would attract something unwanted, but Fire Salts hold just as much heat, if not more."_

The Dragonborn's eyes watered, remembering Balimund's suggestion to conceal her whereabouts by forgoing fires in her travels.

"Gods, Bal… I miss you so much…"

Her belly rumbled, which caused a different flutter within her. Rubbing the spot, Alyssa smiled through her tears. "Hungry, Little One?"

After a quiet meal of bread and cheese, the Breton snuggled into her bedroll. It would be great to get back home and into an actual bed. Eyes drifting shut, Alyssa fell into darkness.

* * *

She opened her eyes. The room looked far grander than it had a moment ago. She was lying in a plush bed, the sheets fit for a king. The chandelier above her was extinguished, but a single candle sat atop a small table to her left, flickering gently. A shifting next to her made Alyssa realize that not only was she not alone in the bed, but her clothes were gone.

Instead of panicking as she ought to, she turned to face the intruder. The Breton was greeted with strikingly bright blue eyes. At first she thought it was Balimund, but as she took in the rest of the face, soon found herself staring at a dark-haired Imperial man. He seemed about the same age as Bal, if not a little older. His skin was bronze and equally bare. He smiled at her adoringly, and the Breton found herself smiling back. He reached for her; Alyssa didn't try to escape or scream at him.

Pulling her body flush against his, the Imperial man nuzzled her neck, sending delightful shivers down her long body. Wait, long? When it came to height, Alyssa was your average Breton. But she could feel her limbs stretched farther than they had ever been. Her thinking was distracted when the dark-haired man trailed kisses to her breasts. She gasped, excited by the attention. As he continued to lavish her, Alyssa couldn't help but realize that this man's touch not only left her without guilt, but felt so _right_.

In one fluid movement, he claimed her. She cried out, clutching this stranger to her desperately. It felt wonderful; there was nothing hurried about their joining. It was as if they were savoring this precious moment. They kissed heatedly, the Imperial cradling the back of her head. Out of the corner of her eye she could see he had a fistful of her pale-gold hair…gold?

"Oh, Lys…"

The man's proclamation of her name snapped her out of her reverie briefly. Suddenly, everything changed around them. They were no longer in bed, but stood in front of an enormous portal, the likes of which she had never seen. The sky was red, much like it had been in her dream in Chorrol. Wait, this man had been there, too!

She noticed they were clothed; he was wearing beautiful golden armor, a steel long sword at the ready. Looking down, Alyssa stared in awe of her skin-tight black and red leather armor. She could see a Daedric dagger on her right side, and feel the familiar weight of a quiver and bow on her back.

The man yelled to her but she missed what he had said, too busy looking at her flat stomach. Where…?

Once again, their surroundings changed. The sky was still red, but now they were inside of what looked to have been a temple, its roof missing. An enormous red beast leered down at her. There was no doubt in her mind this was a Daedric Prince. As she looked into its merciless eyes, she started to put the pieces together. Once again, her thoughts were interrupted, this time by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She turned to face the Imperial man, now finely dressed like a king.

No. Like an emperor.

His eyes were sad; her head quirked as he expressed so much to her without speaking. He said it all with his eyes alone; the last thing being, _I'm sorry._

The Imperial stood before the Daedric monster. Clutching a large red stone, he gave her one last look before smashing it to his chest. A brilliant golden light enveloped him, temporarily blinding the Breton. When she was able to look again, the man was gone; an incredible fiery dragon taking his place. The Daedric Prince of Destruction fought the man-turned-god, until the dragon claimed victory, banishing the Daedra to places unknown.

The golden creature looked at her before throwing its head back with a roar. In an instant, it was incased in stone.

* * *

"MARTIN!"

Alyssa lurched up in her bedroll, sweat trickling down her body.

A dream. It had all been a dream again. Oh, Gods… what in Oblivion was that?

That was it… she had witnessed the Oblivion Crisis, and all through the eyes of her ancestor. That dream had told her what the Altmer chancellor had failed to. Lysara was not only the Champion of Cyrodiil and the Hero of Kvatch, but she had been the lover of Martin Septim, the last Emperor of Cyrodiil.

Which meant…

Eyes wide, Alyssa swept her matted hair out of her face. It was all too much! But how could she deny it? Sondhesa said that Aliana had arrived just weeks after the Crisis, and gave birth to her long-great grandfather Nitram months later. She had made no mention of her ever marrying or fancying any man in High Rock.

So there it was. She had her answers. And yet, she wished to be sure. But who could tell her? Anyone that would know was long dead. If only she had found more letters from Lysara to the late Grandmaster of the Blades, Jauffre.

Alyssa's eyes dilated, realization dawning on her. Who better to tell her of a Blade than a Blade Loremaster?

* * *

Esbern was sitting quietly at the long stone table of Sky Haven Temple. Much had grown quiet since Alduin's defeat. There were still dragons roaming the skies. He sighed, wishing things could have been different between the surviving Blades and the Dragonborn.

Her refusal to destroy Paarthurnax left a rift between them; one that could only be remedied by that dragon's heart in a flour sack. But it seemed the Dragonborn had grown attached to the Great Betrayer, and would sooner cut his heart out.

The old Nord felt a shift in the air, as if the great doors had been opened. He turned to look at Delphine sitting across from him, who seemed to have felt it as well, rising from her seat.

Around the corner strode in Alyssa Wulfe. His eyebrows rose. How odd that she should appear just as he was thinking of her?

Her eyes were steely as she looked between the two Blades. Hmm. This didn't appear to be a social call, let alone a peace offering carved out of the ancient gray dragon. Delphine clutched the hilt of her sword nervously, expecting trouble. Esbern focused on the younger Breton woman, rising to greet her.

"Dragonborn. What brings you here? You know that unless you have dealt with Paarthurnax, our association is ended."

"That may be, Esbern. But what I have for you is a different sort of bargain."

"No deal, Dragonborn!" Delphine said angrily. "It's the dragon, or nothing!"

"Quiet yourself, Delphine. My business is not with you." The Dragonborn practically hissed at the older woman. The Blonde Breton backed up a little, but remained stoic. Turning back to the old Nord, Alyssa began again. "In exchange for the safety of Nirn, which I have _already_ delivered, I seek information from you."

"You would use that as bargaining," Esbern chuckled mirthlessly. "Very well, Dragonborn. What is it you wish to know?"

"… do you know anything about a Nord woman named Lysara? She-"

"How do you know that name?" The old Nord asked, surprised and slightly agitated.

"You first, Esbern." Alyssa said flatly.

The Loremaster hesitated, eyes narrowed. The young Breton was sure he was going to refuse when he finally spoke. "… she was one of the greatest Blades that ever lived. She was responsible for the closing of many Oblivion gates during the Crisis. In the end, she delivered us from Mehrunes Dagon alongside Martin Septim, the last Emperor of Tamriel."

Alyssa nodded. She had wondered if that was why Lysara's letter addressed Jauffre as 'Grandmaster'. Esbern looked at her expectantly. She sighed inwardly. Fair is fair.

"I have learned that name during my time in Cyrodiil. Though I know of her by a different name. She is my ancestor, the lineage matron of my family."

Eyes wide, the old Nord looked at her. "By Talos. It was my understanding that she had gone to another province, but I never would have guessed High Rock."

Alyssa nodded briefly and continued. "And Grandmaster Jauffre… did he leave any explanation or clue as to the relationship between her and Martin?"

The old Blade's eyes went wider. "He… there had been rumors, but nothing ever proven. She left shortly after Martin was lost." The Nord's eyes searched the empty space before him, his mind putting newly-realized pieces together. His sight rested on Alyssa's round belly.

"I see. Thank you, Esbern. Let this be how we leave one another; not as friends, but as newly informed individuals." With that, she turned and walked back towards the doors leading to Skyrim's wilds.

Esbern desperately wanted to call out to her, but knew it was useless. Their kinship was ruined over the fate of that dragon.

"Esbern… what was that all about?" Delphine looked over the old man, concern written on her features.

The Nord swallowed. "We… we have failed."

"Nonsense. We can still bring back the Blades! We don't need that-"

"Foolish woman! You do not understand. To fight dragons was the Blade's first calling. Our primary calling has always been to protect the Emperor and his bloodline."

"But… there hasn't been a true Emperor since Martin Septim, as you said."

"It would seem that is no longer true." Esbern sat in the nearest chair, feeling defeated. "For the last Septim has just walked out that door."


	9. Chapter 9

How Fragile the Forging

Chapter 9

The Dragonborn returned to Honeyside. Finding it empty, she dropped off her pack and headed for the Scorched Hammer. The sight of the forge was always bittersweet.

Asbjorn and Svana were elated to see the Breton home once again. The Far-Shield maiden gushed over Alyssa's large belly as the Fire-Tamer pulled out a chair for her. The Dragonborn spoke of her journey, leaving out the intimate dream. The two Nords were shocked to say the least. Svana was speechless while Asbjorn seemed to calculate. When he spoke, it was with slight awe.

"Alyssa… wouldn't that make you-"

"I know where your mind has lead you, Fire-Tamer, but let me be clear. Cyrodiil has its emperor. Only a few have this knowledge, including the both of you, and I intend to keep it that way."

"But all that you could have…" Svana chimed in, trailing off.

"… would not be worth the price I would have to pay." Alyssa stated quietly. History had proven time and again that ruling the provinces could be deadly. Assassinations, wars, uprisings. That was not the life she wanted for herself, let alone her child. Still, it was comforting to know who she was after all this time.

The young couple discussed all the happenings of Skyrim in great detail. Ulfric Stormcloak had begun the war in earnest. It was only a matter of time before he sought to take back Riften from the Imperials. Alyssa frowned. She knew this day would come. Those men were too impulsive and selfish to realize the harm that they would cause. She just hoped that the lesser of two evils would prevail.

"My friends… It is no longer safe here. And with a child on the way, I cannot risk the impending violence."

Svana looked at Asbjorn, who stared at Alyssa incredulously. "You are leaving?"

"I must." The Breton said softly. She didn't want to go. She had made her home here, a family here. But the danger was too great.

"Where will you go?" Svana asked, her lip trembling slightly.

"I think I shall return to High Rock. For whatever reason, my homeland usually seems to be at peace." Wayrest had been seized by merchant raiders when she was thirteen, but had since been reclaimed. It would be good to see those familiar walls, though she would always miss the hazy city of Riften.

The tavern woman nodded, wiping her eyes. She hated to see her best friend go so far away, but understood her reasoning.

"You… you both could come with me?" Alyssa asked, a little hope in her voice. She loved the couple dearly. She was not surprised when Asbjorn shook his head.

"Our home is here. We must be ready to defend Riften. Though the offer is tempting, sister."

The Dragonborn smiled. She would miss them dearly, but understood. Had it not been for fear of her child, she would take up the same fight. She embraced them both lovingly.

"Perhaps one day I can return. I promise to write you often!"

"You had better. After all, your child has to marry mine!" Svana giggled. Surprised, the Breton embraced the Far-Shield maiden tighter. "Congratulations!"

Asbjorn rubbed the back of his head anxiously. He looked at his wife. "What if we both have sons?"

"If at first you don't succeed…" Alyssa wagged her eyebrows suggestively, trying to lighten the mood.

Asbjorn considered for a moment, then tentatively spoke. "You know, Alyssa. It… might not be a bad idea for you to consider the same."

The Dragonborn looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You could… find another. To love you. And you, him."

Alyssa looked taken aback by this. The Fire-Tamer continued hurriedly. "It is no disrespect to Balimund. I know how much you loved one another. But… raising a bairn on your own will be difficult. And I am sure that there is someone out there who would jump at the chance to be with you."

The Dragonborn's expression softened in understanding. She smiled at the Nord man reassuringly. "Asbjorn, I appreciate your concern, but you must understand. My heart belongs to Balimund, even in death." She paused, considering her words. "I do not fear being on my own. My family matron was able to do it, and so must I."

Asbjorn nodded. He was not surprised. He had never come across a love quite as potent as Alyssa and Balimund's… well, his own withstanding.

Svana embraced Alyssa once again. "I will miss you, sister."

"And I, you. Both of you."

* * *

Two months later…

Alyssa was attempting to look into the cooking pot over her enormous stomach. Well, if she couldn't see it, at least the smells indicated it was almost ready. She kept her back stiff as she stirred. Her body had been so achy. Sleep was difficult now, and yesterday a dull pain in her abdomen kept coming and going. It was uncomfortable, but didn't bother her.

Alyssa had settled in to Wayrest easily. No one knew her here anymore, so she didn't have to conceal her identity beyond being the Dragonborn. She had taken a position as cook at the local inn. Unbeknownst to her, a noblewoman had been dining one night and had raved to her husband about the wonderful dishes. The next day, the young Breton was petitioned to serve the royal family.

Alyssa accepted, not wishing to raise her little one in the raucous of a tavern. Lady Veraina was an unassuming, genteel woman, and her husband Phannis lived to please her. They were a sweet couple, and the Dragonborn was pleased to serve them.

She thought of her other home often. Svana had been keeping her up to date on Skyrim. It seems Ulfric had taken the upper hand and claimed Whiterun. The Dragonborn had worried about her former housecarl-turned-Thane, but a letter from Lydia shortly after had put her fears to rest.

Alyssa was saddened by the news of Balgruuf's fall. He was a decent man, albeit a little queasy at the sight of conflict. She prayed that The Empire would persevere. A High King Ulfric would lead to Skyrim's demise at the hands of the Thalmor.

Hefting the pot onto the nearest table, Alyssa was ladling its contents for supper when she clutched her stomach. Hunched over, she cried out in pain and surprise. Yvaanne had been walking past the kitchen to collect the rugs for beating and heard the young woman cry out. Dropping her items, she rushed to Alyssa's aid. "Child, what is it?"

The Dragonborn tried to look at the white-haired Breton, but couldn't see through her tears. "It h-hurts…!"

Ynaavve called out to another maid. She sent her off to fetch the midwife, then carefully led Alyssa towards the door. Lady Veraina, alarmed by the commotion, entered the kitchen. "What is wrong?"

"The babe comes, My Lady." The older Breton maid explained. "I have called for the midwife, and am taking Miss Wulfe home." Said woman cried out in pain, another contraction hitting her hard.

The bewildered Lady of the House soon regained composure. "Nonsense. Take her to the guest chambers. I will intercept the midwife and bring her here."

Alyssa shook her head, panting. "M-My Lady… I cou-couldn't-"

"Hush, I'll not take 'no' for an answer. You are in no condition to travel. It seems that babe is in a hurry to greet you." With that, Veraina exited the kitchen in pursuit of the younger maid.

* * *

"That's it, dear. Push… push!"

The midwife was standing at the foot of the bed in the guest bedroom, hands on the knees of a sweating and exhausted Dragonborn. Alyssa had been quickly changed into a light shift before Gwynille had arrived to help in the delivery. Lady Veraina stayed on, bringing anything the midwife asked for. She wanted desperately to be of help to the widowed girl. No doubt it was hard enough to bring a child into this world; to be alone while doing so was devastating.

Alyssa's eyes were shut tight, gritting her teeth as she felt immense pressure from her womb. Her auburn hair was matted to her head and sides of her face from sweat.

And she thought fighting the World-Eater had been painful? Gods, she would have laughed if she wasn't so tired.

"Come on, Alyssa. You can do this. Push!" The noblewoman kneeled beside the younger Breton, speaking encouragingly. "Let's get that babe in your arms…"

The Dragonborn looked down at her Lady. This woman was wonderful. Nodding, Alyssa bore down, her limbs shaking from the effort.

"That's it… the babe is crowning!" The midwife exclaimed.

Alyssa gasped, the pain almost too much. The babe was big; bigger than her body might be able to handle. She rallied herself. No. She had to get through this. She would not leave this child alone in the world.

Finding a small reserve of strength, she pushed down hard, tears escaping her tightly-shut eyes as she bellowed in agony.

"Very good, dear… almost there…keep pushing!" Gwynille's hands had moved from Alyssa's knees to the ready position. Lady Veraina watched with bated breath.

…..

Alyssa's loud cry was replaced with a very tiny one.

"It's a boy!" The midwife cheered. Alyssa collapsed on the bed, gasping for air with effort.

Gwynille immediately tended the babe and wrapped him in a small sheet. The Lady of the House released her breath, smiling.

"He's beautiful, Alyssa. Congratulations."

The midwife cradled the babe. She came up to Alyssa, smiling. "He is very healthy-looking. You did very well."

Alyssa propped herself up, staring at the white bundle. He had grown quiet since entering the world.

Gwynille smiled warmly. "Would you like to meet your son?"

Alyssa nodded mutely, eyes wide. She opened her arms to receive him.

He was perfect. A good size, with wisps of blond hair and rosy cheeks. His eyes were closed, but she didn't need to see them to know he looked just like Balimund.

"Hello, Little One…" Alyssa whispered in awe.

His eyes fluttered open, seeming to recognize her voice. His eyes were a piercing icy blue, with a dusky ring around the irises. The Dragonborn kissed her son's forehead. In that moment, something had changed in her. Alyssa wasn't sure what it was; all she knew was that she would go to Oblivion and back to protect him.

"What is his name?" Lady Veraina asked softly, standing to look at the boy better.

Alyssa's eyes never left her son's. "Martin… his name is Martin."

The Lady's eyebrows rose. This babe was clearly fathered by a Nord, yet the young Breton woman had chosen an Imperial name? "Any reason for it?"

"It is a family name." Alyssa said, smiling. She cuddled little Martin closer to her, reveling in his beauty. This boy would be strong, kind and smart. Just like his father.

'I wish you were here, Bal. You would love him.' She thought, eyes brimming with tears.

Something warm ghosted across her cheek. It felt like sunshine.

* * *

Thank you for reading my story. If you have enjoyed this, please be sure to look out for my next story about Aliana/Lysara and Martin Septim.

Once again, correspondence is always welcome.


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